


The Legacy of the Crystals

by Momowasdreamt



Category: Final Fantasy XVI
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, As does Joshua, Clive just needs some love, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Heavy Violence, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Pre-War, Slight enemies to lovers, This game isn't even out yet, Time-Skip, Violence against Children, Young and old Clive, the dog dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29909658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momowasdreamt/pseuds/Momowasdreamt
Summary: When you're a knight in Rosaria, you never seem to catch a break.
Relationships: Clive Rosfield/Reader
Kudos: 1





	The Legacy of the Crystals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a young squire decides to poke a little fun at the rabbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so, I only wrote this fic because there wasn't a fic already. This is also the very first fanfiction I have written, so please excuse the bad formatting and horrible storytelling. I'm still trying to learn. This story is mostly for self-indulgence. There will be no smut until after the time-skip, obviously. There are some grammar issues in here which I'll probably never get to, sorry. please enjoy nonetheless. :)

The tension between the eternal kingdoms grew more with each day.   
  
However, you'd relatively do anything other than sit through another day of training. You wiped at the sweat beading from your forehead for the tenth time in a row, the chain mail nipping at the sensitive skin underneath. You felt your legs weaken with each parry and swing you threw at the other knight; who too, seemed on the verge of tears, probably out of sheer pain.   
  
Yet you couldn't yield. The tourney was only a week away; and lately, everyone's been trying to make their way up the ranks just to partake in it. Why? The winner of said tourney gets a unique place as the first-ever "Shield of Rosaria. " In which those who swear their sword to protect the one; but not only, Archduke's son, Joshua Rosfield. It didn't matter who had to be slain to meet such rank. Titles of such honor would surely be better than sitting out here with bleeding knees and feeble arms.   
  
You swung low aiming carefully for the most vulnerable spot. The young man barely had the time or the energy to move out the way, forcibly sending him straight to the ground. He spat a spot of blood on the ground, scrambling to regain his strength to rise. You reach out and promptly pull him to a hunch. He nods in silent consideration before limping away, the poor boy. Some people would not survive this upcoming event, nor did you want to come to be one of them.   
  
After a few more sparring rounds, you had ultimately reached your limit. Your vision blurred, your throat burning fiercely from the lack of water. Feeling your way to the armory, you shed your armor and hung your sword up. It was time to head back home, conceivably take a relaxing bath and read up on the books you got gifted for your 15th birthday. It was late, getting extremely dark. You turned and swiftly moved towards the door, only you didn't see the boy entering in. He stumbled awkwardly back in mild shock, catching himself on the door frame.   
  
"Ah, my sincere apologies. I didn't see you come in. " His voice by heart was smoother than fucking honey. Like he was some type of royalty. You could barely make out any of his prominent features, making him impossible to accurately identify.   
  
Not that it really mattered.   
  
"It's fine, truly. I was merely on my way out. "You bowed in acknowledgment before making your way out the door.   
  
The interaction drained the remaining sliver of energy you had. You made your way home and heated some water for a bath.   
  
Unquestionably you had recognized that man from somewhere? You possessed half the heart to go and find him again, but your sore legs were screaming mercy to just rest. You'd investigate it later. You wouldn't get yourself in a bunch over a boy, not when you're so close to essentially being something grander. Shaking the absurd thoughts from your head, you fix the bath and prepare yourself for the bruising road ahead.   
  
  
  
The next morning you were spared no mercy.   
  
Fall after fall you continued to pull yourself up. Fierce pain overtook your entire body like a snake squeezing its prey. Like hell, it burnt. However; you couldn't stop yet. At least that's what you concluded the moment before being struck in the gut by the same boy you winded yesterday. You collapsed on the ground, struggling to catch a breath.   
  
"I yield" You manage to get out. The boy only smiled, offering his arm out to you, who you had no other choice to accept. You pulled yourself up. Shaking off the gathering dust. Your legs still stung from the day before but you well knew that was no excuse to yield so easily. You kicked the ground in self-pity.   
  
"Attention, I have some urgent news." Our instructor shouted, herding us into a line. Typical procedures.   
  
"We have some young men from the other division enlisting in our group, make yourselves known." He stood tall, making room for the new line of boys to come walking through, each stating their names and ages. All was well and typical, more men to compete against. You observed a undoubtedly familiar figure, the last man to make his way up.   
  
"Clive Rosfield, fifteen, please to make your acquaintance."   
  
Similar voice, it was definitely him.   
  
That's when you freaked.   
  
You ran into the archduke's son and made him apologize to you?! You were surprised your head wasn't on a spike right now. The other men looked in awe, a couple of the girls whispered amongst themselves. You felt your heart drop forty leagues under as his almost midnight azure eyes met yours as he scanned the crowd. Another competitor, don't make yourself look like a fool, you told yourself.   
  
"Resume training." The instructor called out, jerking you out of your trace.   
  
You continued your practice as normal. Eventually, you learned to take people down with you, instead of bearing the blow yourself. Each person you made yield made you feel an inch closer to victory. All was well until you saw him walk towards you.   
  
"It's such a striking coincidence to see you here, would you mind?" He gestured to your sword, in which you respond with a hesitant nod.   
  
"I am sincerely sorry about last night." You managed to say wearily, getting into position. You carefully raise your sword, waiting attentively for his initiation.   
  
"No need, tis' was my fault for not minding my step." He stood back, not unsheathing his sword. What was this man doing?   
  
You charged forward, regarding his footwork and anticipating the dodge. He responded directly, bluntly putting his right foot down and moving his left side out of the way. Youknew this trick, you swing your right leg back and twist your left side towards his position, swinging the sword in a downwards slashing motion. He steps out of the way once more, causing you to almost lose your balance. This man was getting on your nerves. You looked towards him, seeing him smirk down at you before sweeping your legs from the ground, forcibly making you fall over.   
  
"Never look at your opponent's face." He held out his arm.   
  
You impulsively decided to quickly wipe the damn smirk on his face, sweeping his legs while he was busy looking at your pissed-off expression. He fell over, catching himself on his forearms, which so happened to be right over you. You felt hot, unbearably hot. He seemed to be in some type of emotional shock because his face was frozen in surprise. You too, couldn't move your muscles an inch. He smelt of mint and the Rosarian signature cologne, which was somewhat intoxicating.   
  
He finally realized where he was and maybe even who he was, as he stumbled up to his feet. You scrambled up, still processing the uncomfortable situation at hand. You felt the dire need to go throw yourself off the top of the castle's peak.   
  
"I am terribly sorry sir, uh, Clive." You manage to sputter out. He still looked like a frightened deer caught in a rut, a blush veiling his entire face. It was undoubtedly a remarkable sight if it weren't the actual prince himself who just collapsed on top of you.   
  
He didn't say a word. He stood tall, a handconcealing his mouth.   
  
"What's your name?" He promptly dropped the playful tone, his eyes bleeding a toxic color as they naturally met yours. You felt your throat go dry, drier than the miserable night before,  your face grew cold.   
  
"Y/n." You responded hastily. You tried reading his face for any conspicuous sign of personal hostility but to no avail.   
  
"I look forward to seeing you at the ducal tournament, you seem like a worthy opponent." He lowered his hand from his face before walking off.   
  
You realizedthat the sun had already made its dreary round and that it was pitch-dark. You walked off in the other direction, hoping not to accidentally bump into him on your way back. You couldn't believe anything that just happened. Your heart was about to fly out of your chest, just trying to scarcely comprehend it. You assuredly should've had your head hacked off yet you still stood there.   
  
This was undoubtedly going to be a long couple of hectic weeks.   
  
Not that you were going to complain.


End file.
